


The Night Is Still Young

by taormina



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Dealing With Loss, F/F, Female Friendship, Fluff, Mentions of alcoholism, lady love, proof that nyssa has a heart, superhero training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:05:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taormina/pseuds/taormina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurel realizes how much she likes having Nyssa around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Is Still Young

Laurel had severely underestimated the intensity of training. 

After just one hour with Nyssa, muscles Laurel didn't realize she had hurt like hell. Every night punches and kicks she didn’t know she was capable of delivering were being played over and over in her head, rendering her too restless to sleep. Sleep, as it turned out, was severely underrated. 

Even when Nyssa wasn’t there with her in the gym or on the streets of Starling City, Laurel could hear her voice, telling her what to do: be faster, Laurel. Stay focused, Laurel. Don’t exert your legs so much. 

Nyssa was calling to her, and it was a comfort. (Well, usually.) 

But then Laurel saw her allies in the secret corners of Verdant, and all her training would seem for naught: the way they looked at her – Ollie, Diggle, even Felicity sometimes; like everyone thought she was too brittle and too weak to achieve the goals she had set herself. Like she’d never become strong, no matter how much she trained. 

How could she ever become the Black Canary if the people she called her friends didn’t deem her worthy enough? In their eyes, she was no more than a helpless little bird who’d had her wings clipped. Useless. 

Thankfully, Nyssa understood. Nyssa always understood, and always made Laurel go home with a sense of achievement in her aching body – even if she did continuously tell Laurel off for not getting back on her feet quickly enough after a blow. (Which, of course, Nyssa had every right to; Laurel knew perfectly well that her insecurities were slowing her down mentally and physically. If she ever faced a stronger adversary than Nyssa, being fast might be the one thing that could save her life.) 

…Still, at least she’d finally figured out how to knock someone unconscious.

One evening, after a long day of training – and having acquired yet more bruises – Laurel felt like thanking Nyssa. Thank her for all the effort she's put into their training sessions. Thank her for bandaging the hole that Sara's death had left in her heart. Both their hearts.

No-one could replace Sara. Laurel certainly couldn’t, and neither could Nyssa. But to have someone to remind her of Sara’s brilliance, her laugh, her free spirit and her heart, that was a better starting place for her recovery than anything. Helping to save this city might distract Laurel from her grief, but sharing her memories of her sister with Nyssa helped give it a place. 

For that, Laurel was eternally grateful.

Laurel wasn't quite sure how to thank Nyssa, though. As Nyssa didn’t share much about her private life bar the memories of Sara, and the occasional rant about her father, Laurel didn't really know what Nyssa liked doing. Did the daughter of Ra's al Ghul have hobbies and interests? Did she have any friends outside the League? Could she go out like regular young women? Did she – gasp – like going to the cinema? 

What if her only hobby was beating up bad men and women?

In the end, Laurel settled for a good old-fashioned drink. (A non-alcoholic one, that is – a strawberry milkshake would do. Tea, maybe. Coffee? At this hour? Not so much.) Perhaps the gesture wouldn’t quite match up to the time and effort Nyssa had put into their training sessions, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

Besides, it’d be worth it for seeing Nyssa let her hair down for once. 

For some reason, Laurel was very interested to see the woman that her sister fell in love with all those years ago, if only to add yet another piece to the shattered puzzle that was the memory of her sister. Deep down, Nyssa just had to be gentle; a woman who’s probably more warm and caring than her fighting style would make you believe. Laurel couldn’t quite imagine that Nyssa’s only defining characteristic was that of a cold blooded killer. 

Then again, what if her suggestion crossed a line? What if having a drink with a friend of the Arrow broke several unwritten rules of the League?

She suddenly imaged a dozen masked men invading the café she’d earmarked for that evening, tearing Nyssa away from her mint tea or whatever, and a shiver ran down her spine. 

How Nyssa could live with Ra’s constantly breathing down her neck, she had no idea.

Perhaps that’s why she didn’t seem to have a real private life; perhaps she simply couldn’t afford to have one. 

Yet all the more reason for asking her out her tonight, Laurel thought boldly. No-one should have to suffer a life devoid of freedom like that. 

When Nyssa was about to pick up her stuff and leave the gym after their intense training session, Laurel finally found the courage to pop the question. She’d been thinking the question over and over in her head until she felt confident that it sounded right, and now seemed like the perfect moment to ask. 

It had started raining.

‘Um, hey, Nyssa?’ she said, picking up her gym bag so she had something to do with her hands. The sound of rain drops hitting the building’s dirty windows was a pleasant distraction from her racing, thumping heartbeat. ‘I was wondering if you'd maybe like to have a drink with me.’

She had intended her question to sound casual, relaxed. Instead, she sounded foolishly nervous, her voice higher and shakier than usual. Like she was asking her out on a date. God!! 

To make matters worse, Laurel suddenly became very self-aware of her appearance. With her body aching and her clothes smelling vaguely of sweat and men’s deodorant, her hair tied in a messy ponytail, she looked positively awful. Not to mention her saggy sweatpants! 

She wished she’d packed a change of clothes. No self-respecting club or restaurant would let her in looking like some bruised delinquent. 

Nyssa – who, Laurel mused, looked much better than she did right now – cocked her right eyebrow. Perhaps she thought Laurel had had too many knocks to her head, for she was watching her suspiciously. 

‘With your fondness of alcohol, I would highly recommend against it,’ said Nyssa. She sounded stern, like she was about to give Laurel a royal telling-off. 

Laurel’s stomach twisted. 

Laurel confided in Nyssa almost as soon as they’d started training. During a quick break from target practice, Nyssa asked Laurel whether there was anything she needed to know. Hidden strengths. Former sparring partners. Medical issues that may impair Laurel’s progress. 

Having learned at her many AA meetings how important it is to open up and share, Laurel didn’t hold back and told Nyssa that yes, she was an alcoholic, and yes, she was working on it, and no, she wasn’t planning on drinking herself silly if she ever failed at a mission. Nyssa thanked her for her honesty, said something vague and wordy about the importance of having a clear mind in combat, and that was the end of that. 

Laurel even thought she’d spotted a glint of pride in Nyssa’s eyes. It may just have been the reflection of the light, though. 

Unfortunately, Nyssa didn’t seem so impressed tonight.

It was raining hard now.

‘At any rate, Laurel,’ Nyssa continued flatly, ‘The way you performed tonight is no cause for celebration.’ She crossed her arms, which made her taut muscles stand out in her black tank top. ‘You really do need to work more on your posture, for it is appalling. I will refuse to take responsibility if you get killed due to your poor back, nor will I shed tears. As always, you must work harder tomorrow. Work until you have no more strength left in your aching body, and then continue regardless.’

Their training sessions usually ended like this, with Nyssa giving a long-ass lecture about something. 

Laurel should kind of have known that Nyssa cared only about their training. 

She reminded Laurel a little of the girls in law school who never went out because they’d spend day in, day out studying for exams. If those girls knew what Laurel had become now, they’d never look at her again. 

Laurel vaguely waved her hand in front of her as though she was trying to make her suggestion disappear into thin air. Like smoke. Like when she and Sara smoked cigarettes for the first time, and their dad nearly caught them in the act. It was a silly idea. 

This was a silly idea. 

A clock chimed. Ten o’clock. It was too late now, anyway. 

Laurel slung her bag over her right shoulder. She was leaving. ‘Never mind. Maybe next time. Thanks for tonight, Nyssa,’ she added in a voice that didn’t belong to her, her eyes avoiding Nyssa’s.

She started towards the door, her knees wobbly and her face hot. She shouldn’t have suggested it. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

She was about to head out of the building and onto the streets, listening to her echoing footsteps so she didn’t have to listen to her thoughts. She didn’t even care that the weather was bad; she wanted the rain to cool her down and wash away her feelings. 

Then Nyssa stopped her by grabbing her elbow, and the footsteps faded. 

The gentleness of Nyssa’s touch caught Laurel off guard, more so than any punch ever had. Thus far, all the touches she and Nyssa had shared had been hard. Tough. Violent. Often, they broke skin. Made her bleed. Laurel had never really noticed how soft and small Nyssa’s hands were before.

‘I have hurt you,’ said Nyssa matter-of-factly. She looked worried, which was another thing that was new to Laurel. Usually during combat, Nyssa didn’t show any compassion. It was all, get up, do this, don’t do that. 

Laurel preferred Nyssa like this. Gentle. 

Laurel winched. The strap of her bag was digging into a wound on her shoulder painfully, and she put the bag back on the floor. She massaged her shoulder in an attempt to make the smartening tension fade away. Sometimes, something about the pain made her feel strong, like the bruises were a token of her progress. Today, her body reminded her of how thankful she was that Nyssa had taught her how to deal with pain in the first place. 

For a few seconds, Laurel stared at the dirty floor beneath her, measuring her words in her head. If there was anything Nyssa had taught her these past few weeks, it was to calculate everything. Picture moves before they happen. Think things through. However, she also knew that if she thought about her actions too much, she’d slow herself down. Hesitate.

She didn’t want to hesitate today. 

‘I would just like to thank you for being there for me by buying you a drink, that's all,’ said Laurel, at which Nyssa frowned immediately. ‘I won't drink a drop of alcohol. Promise,’ Laurel added in an assured manner. She was smiling. It felt like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

Incidentally, the pulsing pain in her body seemed to disappear a little, too.

Nyssa was deep in thought, like she was weighing Laurel’s request hard. Although she actually replied after only a few seconds, to Laurel it seemed like forever.

She didn’t realize how badly she wanted Nyssa to say yes until now.

‘Fine.’ Nyssa spat the word out like she was a high-school professor who finally gave in to a group of students nagging her to let them leave early. ‘But if you're not fit for tomorrow's session then that's your doing, not mine.’ 

Nyssa’s features softened. Was that a smile playing on her lips? ‘I quite like tea, by the way. Green. Pomegranate. No sugar.’

Yes, that was definitely a smile playing on her lips.

Laurel made herself a promise to order as much tea as she could afford tonight.


End file.
